elucidate
by quorra laraex
Summary: He's a day late and a dollar short. — makorra, oneshot.


A/N: this can be perceived as a sequel to my other oneshot _without euphoria _or it can be seen as just a regular fic.

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elucidate

They stare at one another for another couple of minutes, but it doesn't feel like it, not at all. It feels like it's been days, weeks, months, it feels strange—because it has and it certainly is. Time has passed, a lot of it. It's different now, and it isn't that kind of reunion that Korra had hoped for, where she would run into his arms in a leap and wrap her legs around his hips and he would kiss her impulsively, igniting the demand in her heart and making her veins run mad. It's a broken kind of different, because well, everything is broken.

Her eyes are shattered, he notices this with her unreeling gaze. That former beautiful blue was faltered into something grey and it seems like the colour had drowned into something melancholic and acidic, and he didn't like it. He wanted those eyes that would glimmer in the sunlight, the ones that would make his heart thump in his burning chest, those pools that were breathtakingly stunning it had the power to make him stop in his tracks. They're still beautiful, filled with that canvas of courage and triumph, but it's different, too, it's weaker and it's painted with regret, and he knew no matter what he did to try to change it back, it wouldn't shake. He's late, and it's been too long—much too long and an abrupt pang in his chest weakened him along with his heavy mind.

She's carrying too much. Burdens, regret, loneliness. It's digging into her soul and a flush of stupid little memories peck at her brain and her conscience tells her to stop repeatedly, but Korra knows she has no control. She never has control when Mako's around. She stands tall, her confident façade intact. She can't lose it this time, she's happy, she tries fooling herself.

He takes a step closer to her, his hands shuffled awkwardly into his pockets. She notices he's not wearing that usual crimson scarf around his neck, like he used to every day when they fought in the war side by side with their comrades—except for the time he had given in to her when rescuing Bolin from the equalists. The soft cotton was comfortable and warm against her skin, and she cherished wearing something so valuable to the firebender. But she knows. At that moment, Asami probably has it wrapped around her. It would only be reasonable. She doesn't mention it—she doesn't want to hear him say it. The knot in her stomach was unstable and tight and she couldn't loosen it. It hurts a little too much.

"Hey Korra," his voice is uneven, and it cracks slightly. She almost smiles, but the nerve doesn't make it to her lips.

"Long time, Mako," his name sounds weird on her tongue. She hasn't pronounced it in years—not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't. She's the avatar, a hero, and a damned proud one at that—she had to look forward; _always_ forward. Looking back was for pansies, Lin had told her. The past will claw at you, and become future obstacles filled with the feelings that will eat you away and break you mentally. She had to avoid it.

He's aware and he hates himself for it. He wants to embrace her ever so lightly and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. He wants to ask her how life has been and he wants to catch up. He wants to hold her, to straddle her in his arms. He misses the arguments, her cocky smile, her blissful eyes, he misses it. He misses her kissing. He lusts for her, and he doesn't exactly know how to place the correct words in a sentence, but he knows she wants it, too.

"What brings you back here?" She motions her arms behind her, allowing the image of the rest of Air Temple Island to capture his view with those familiar gold eyes. He looks the same, she thinks comfortably. It's as if he didn't even age in the years she struggled. Good to know someone's been in practical paradise after the war.

"You," Mako whispers and his voice breaks. And it hits her. His wife is dead. "S-she—it was an accident."

The only sign that Korra's listening is her narrowing of eyes, and for some stupendous reason, it makes Mako slightly angry. Her eyebrow arches prodding for him to go on.

"She's been gone for awhile, Korra," his hands are fidgeting nervously while Korra's glare hardens. "A-and I'm thinking, I was thinking to myself, and I just—I wanted to see you so bad— "

"Then why didn't you?" she cuts in, caring less if that was considered as rude. Her voice is different, just like the atmosphere. It's colder, cruel, even. Her fingers dig into the skin of her waist, but she doesn't care, not one bit.

Their gaze fixates back to each other and he's speechless. He can't run this time—he's run one too many. It's time to grow up. "I couldn't."

"Oh?" her sarcastic response infuriates him.

"Korra, _I'm sorry_," he's inching closer to her, and his gloved hands cup her face while his eyes become completely vulnerable in the sight of hers. He wants to kiss her—so bad. He wants her refreshing taste on the tip of his tongue and the tangy soft lips embedding his. And he's close, so close, until he feels a hard finger jabbing at his chest.

She's pushing him backwards, from this one motion, and he's kind of frightened about what she is capable of. She is the avatar, bender of all four elements, after all. Her voice is like venom, "Bolin—he visited me, he's the one who gave me the invitation. I went to your wedding, and I watched you marry another girl. I watched you say your vows and I watched you kiss her and hold her and do you know what it's like, Mako? Do you know how broken it made me feel knowing I could not walk out on my friends on their special day? Do you know how much I ached and how wrecked my mind felt because of you? And what happened after—_nothing_. Never did you visit me, never did she visit me, never was I invited anywhere, never was I told a thing from Bolin because you know why? I never asked about you. If you didn't care about me, I most certainly would not ever care about you."

And suddenly tears are streaming from her orbs, but they're gone in a swift motion of her wrist. She's been trying to hold them in, or bend them once they reach the corner of her eyes, but she has to refrain when she's too weak and busy telling her heart out to him. And she's not done.

"You didn't even explain anything to me. All of a sudden, you guys are off getting engaged. You always did expect me to handle so much," she pushes him further away from her and her glare on him transforms into something more hurtful.

He doesn't know what to say. He's not prepared for this, for any of it. In all this time, he was oblivious to _all _of this, her pain, the emotional scarring, and mental suffering, and stupid heartaches, and he knows from then on, he never really did deserve her. It's his fault—it always his. The connection that once clicked the two to playful smirks and teasing jokes is cut and broken and he can't coerce her into more. It's buried, they're buried and they're drowning and they're burning and bending can't save them this time. Nothing can.

It really isn't the kind of reunion he expected either.


End file.
